


Some of our stars will always be the same

by JonathansNightFlight



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, M/M, Moments of fluff, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Suicide, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 02:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathansNightFlight/pseuds/JonathansNightFlight
Summary: What if Will has not been the only one moving through time?Disclaimer: This story is a "pocket-verse AU" that can only exist within the context inameitlater's Our Place in Time series. For the love of everything that's holy please read that, before reading this story. Contains spoilers of Chapters 1-5 of Sounders of Three. Part One occurs between chapters 1 and 2 and Part Two takes place mid-way through chapter 5.





	Some of our stars will always be the same

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inameitlater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inameitlater/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sounders of Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847300) by [inameitlater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inameitlater/pseuds/inameitlater). 



**Part One**

Taste intruded first. It was impossible to ignore the sourness of vomit in Will’s mouth.

There is a slow moment of dread that feels familiar, as he panics his legs won’t move, before realising that he can still feel them. He looks down and sees his feet, responsive, dirty and wounded. He makes himself walk to the bathroom, body moving automatically. Will blinks slowly at his reflection in the mirror.

‘My name is Will Graham and I am in Wolf Trap Virginia - and I have just thrown up the ear of Abigail Hobbs’ he thinks absent-mindedly. He wonders if he is not allowed to stop now. Go back to sleep and keep sleeping indefinitely, no more murders, body parts or dragons. No more Hannibal.

But then Will hears a low-pitch keen and any ensuing thoughts of self-erasure are wiped away.

Will lets himself kneel on the floor by the dog beds, and the dogs pounce at the opportunity as he wrestles him to the ground. He can feel his fever spiking at some point but it doesn’t seem important. An hour later, Will is still on the same spot surrounded by warm bodies and wet noses when he hears the Bentley pull in his driveway.

A key turning in the lock, the door opening. Unresisting. Will wants to resent his door but he is too tired. There is no plan, no machinations. Would Hannibal present himself as a concerned friend, ‘discover’ the ear and take him to BHSCI? Would he gently encourage him to confess?

Will finds himself incapable of following these streams of thought. As Hannibal enters the house, his frame casting a shadow over the living-room, Will’s only action is to move slightly forwards, placing his body between the man and his pack.

Any attempt to shield the dogs is fruitless, as every mutt but Winston eagerly run to greet Hannibal, expecting treats.

“Will” Resigned, he looks up. Hannibal is dressed down, a sweater over a button down, slacks, no coat. Expression unreadable. “Are you going to shoot me?”

Will responds with the first thing that comes to mind “Are you going to shoot my dogs?”

Hannibal’s eyebrows shoot up in what Will can only read as remorse.

“I will never use the dogs to cause you pain” Hannibal pauses “to the best of my abilities”.

Will feels a hysterical bout of laughter bubbling inside his stomach, but Hannibal’s hand is too close to Buster’s neck. He can almost hear the snap of the petite spine, so he swallows it down “To the best of your abilities? What is this even supposed to mean Hannibal?” And then, lower “You shot my dogs”.

Hannibal reaches for words, seems to be about to say something, and then stops himself. Will has never seen a version of Hannibal so unsure.

Hannibal shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t matter.” Decided. “I apologise. For all of it.”

Will swallows. “Do you know what you are apologising for?”

“The dogs. Scrambling your brain.”

“The ear”

Hannibal nods, “Yes, the ear”

That’s when Will decides that this Hannibal is a hallucination. And that’s when his body decides it has had enough, the strain of the fever and stress too intense, and he collapses to the floor.

Hannibal runs to him, footsteps heavy, clumsy. Will feels hands around him, on him, and he knows he has every reason in the world to be flinching away but as he is lifted he clings bodily on Hannibal.

He finds himself in bed, Hannibal wearing the most unusual expression of concern. Will smiles at the bizarreness of the situation, and then remembers the wobbly footsteps as Hannibal carried him and asks “What happened to your legs?”

Hannibal smiles back, thumbs rubbing firm circles on Will’s temples. “Brain injury”.

Hannibal’s fingers feel cool against his clammy skin, and the pressure feels amazing against his pounding headache. Will leans up and into the touch, nodding agreeably.

“Will, you should sleep” Hannibal’s voice sounds sad.

“Stay with me?”

“Always”

Will feels the bed dip, and Hannibal is turning him to his side. They are facing each other but Will’s eyes keep sliding close. Hannibal resumes his touch and Will nuzzles his palms. He feels content, and sleep is so close but one thing keeps troubling him just outside of his awareness,

Ah.

“Hannibal” the word is wet, almost slurred. Will swallows and continues. This is important. “The dogs… I don’t remember feeding them. Will you check for me Hannibal?”

Will feels a wet lips pressing against his forehead, his brow, his cheekbone.

“Of course Will. Just go to sleep and I will check on them”.

This is ok then. Will lets his body relax. Hannibal’s sweater tickles against his nose and he smiles, but it smells like Hannibal. The throbbing headache feels further and further away until it slipped away entirely.

Taste intruded first. It was impossible to ignore the sourness of vomit in Will’s mouth.

 

 

\------

**Part Two**

Will awakes to the smell of dust. He blinks. He is in his house in Wolf Trap, Virginia. The dog beds are empty. There is a notebook notebook filled with symbols and astronomical looking signs in his line of sight.

Will hears the door open and refuses to sit up. He feels the cold from the open door down the marrow of his bones. He feels it in his gut like the blade of a knife and it makes him cramp up.

Hannibal is walking towards him for what seems like a small forever. Will looks at him, and he is not prepared for the painful way he drags his foot behind him. Will tries to remember, were their injuries that pronounced last time?

Hannibal takes a seat by the bed. Seconds tick by. Will knows he should be hearing about teacups but instead there is silence. Eventually he stops expecting and relaxes into the quiet, refusing to make yet another decision. He wonders how easy it would be to talk this Hannibal into killing him and suddenly he can taste copper in his mouth, vividly. He shivers.

“The heating had been off for a long time. I am afraid it will take a few more hours for the house to warm up” Hannibal sounds neutral, if not apologetic “But I can always bring you more blankets” he offers, “or prepare you a hot water bottle”.

Will’s face pulls into a grimace. This is all wrong. He makes to sit up, and the world goes spinning.

“Easy Will, breathe” Will can just hear Hannibal’s words over the ringing in his ears. His palms feel clammy and he feels himself starting to hyperventilate which makes him want to get up, run, escape. But there is a solid hand pillowing his head and one on his shoulder, gently tucking him back under the covers.

“This is a different body but I believe your brain still thinks you’ve just been bled out” Hannibal uses his doctor voice, calm, warm, and detached.

“Will, I want you to lay down and focus on your breathing. Can you do this for me? There, there. Easy does it.” Will keeps his eyes closed, pressing the heel of a palm against them. He thinks he will vomit, and wonders when was the last time he ate. He feels fingers on his wrist, rubbing tight circles, firm. It clicks - Hannibal is measuring his pulse. Eventually, deeming his pulse low enough Hannibal hums agreeably.

“I am going to bring you some water. You are currently dehydrated. Will you keep focusing on your breath until I come back?” Will makes a noncommittal sound and it seems to have been convincing, because he can hear Hannibal making his way to the kitchen. Then there is nothing, and the uneven steps are back, just a second before Will can dose off.

“I need you to open your eyes” Will doesn’t want to - because then he will have to think about exsanguination, and timelines, and limps, and Will is so very tired.

“Please” Hannibal’s voice does a funny little thing that reminds Will of a hurt dog, and Will’s eyes open against his better judgement. Petulant, he stays very still, hand still pressed against his face, stealing glimpses of a concerned Hannibal through splayed fingers. Will is trying to read him but beyond the subtle signs of concern, his expressions are off.

“What do you know about ‘bleeding-outs’?” Will eventually asks. Hannibal’s face blanks and then rearranges itself to something more familiar. Mirth? His eyes wrinkle with a minuscule smile.

“A thing or two, Will” and then the smile is gone. He seats back down on the chair “The time jumps. The deaths. All of it.”

“You remember, the cliff - us” Will finds himself stumbling upon his words.

Hannibal lifts a hand, not quite meeting the other’s gaze.

“No. I know what you are hoping for. Regretfully, this is only temporary.” Will panicked burst of energy deflates. “Sooner or later you will close your eyes and you will arrive at the exact moment you woke up, just now. And for you, this will have never happen. And I will remember nothing until you” a pause “skip again”.

Will opens his mouth but stays silent because there are too many words fighting to get out. He closes it, and then starts again.

“So what is this?”

“A self-contained bubble, to the best of my knowledge. A day-long respite between two time-skips. It picks up when the last skip ended, and ends before the new Skip begins. A dry-run.”

Will blinks slowly. “Carry on”

“To the best of my knowledge, you never remember the bubbles. You wake up, remembering all the skips before-"

"But not the bubbles"

"Not the bubbles"

"And you?"

"And I wake up remembering everything. Until you go to sleep. And then the day starts again, and I remember nothing of the skips, until you die.”

"And then?"

"And then I remember everything again"

Will can feel his head rebelling, and the nausea coming back.

“Of course this is only what I have managed to piece together by means of observation, and your notes.” A pause. Will must have looked utterly lost, because Hannibal adds “You shared your theories with me one time skip ago - after you strangled Chilton and came to the house by the cliff”.

“Just before you poisoned me” the words rush out. “In kindness” Will adds thickly, unable or unwilling to stop himself.

Hannibal nods. Again, his face takes on an expression that Will can’t identify. It irks him.

“And how do you jump, Hannibal?”

They stare at each other. Will faces Hannibal gaze head on, unblinking. The pressure behind his eyes mounts, until he thinks he can smell the salt of the Atlantic. There is a persistent thought screaming somewhere beyond his awareness. Will swallows and his throat feels raw.

Hannibal, ever attuned to Will's needs, has the glass of water ready. He brings to Will's lips. They lock eyes and Will takes a drink, swallows intently.

“I jump the same way you do” Hannibal says, fingers smoothing over a crease on his shirt cuff. “But in my case, by whom, or how I die does not seem matter. I always arrive at the very same moment you land. That, I cannot influence”.

Will looks up “And what can you influence?”

Hannibal does not look away from his hands, still worrying his cuff.

“How long I stay behind”

They are both silent. Will shivers and this time he can't blame the cold. Still, Hannibal takes his hands in his and exhales on them, warming him up.

“So am I to guess that you did not look after my dogs?”

“I made some phone calls”

“And Abigail?”

“I made some phone calls, Will”. This time Hannibal looks at him, and there is something pleading in eyes. Don't.

Will says nothing. He feels hollow, he feels too much. Hannibal is too close. He focuses on his breathing and casts his gaze outside the window.

Will is terribly aware at this moment of the amount of excuses he supplied to himself. Excuses that made it ok to manipulate and use Hannibal in all the pasts he encountered. He becomes keenly aware of each betrayal he stacked between them in each and every jump. He can see himself as he is in stark relief, and he knows that Hannibal can see him too - and he is far too cold and tired to stand it.

“You did not have to” Will flinches at how shrill his voice sounds. “You did not have to follow, you did not have to be here, you could have carried on living and thriving and evading Jack, mocking every law enforcement. Made a life with Abigail, or without her - without me, you could have delighted for years. You could have been the closest thing to an immortal that world would ever see”.

Will realises that he is crushing Hannibal’s fingers in his grip. He opens his clenched fist and lets Hannibal hand go, but Hannibal stays the hold, applying gentle pressure over his pulse point. Will looks away with a grunt - at that very moment he truly resents Hannibal.

“Will” and the way he says his name burns, “choosing the pills was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Hannibal stands up and Will is grateful for the break in contact. He observes Hannibal rummaging through his closet and drawers, movements uncharacteristically heavy, steps dragging. He finds a blanket he deems warm enough and returns to Will’s side.

“May I?”

Will shrugs.

Hannibal spreads the blanket over Will, carefully tucking and smoothing along Will's body. A second of hesitation and then he is leaning over, reaching behind Will. Deft fingers arrange the pillows in a more comfortable position. Another hesitation and then Will can feel him erasing the last inches of distance, breathing him in.

Hannibal’s voice is a breathy whisper by his ear, and Will can’t remember ever experiencing a more intimate sensation “I laid down next to you as you were slipping away. You were unconscious for a few minutes when the tremors started - the drug attacks the primary system. I knew you couldn’t feel anything by that point but your muscles cramped and it looked like you were suffering. When the rasping started I broke your neck. That’s when the memories came back, as they do. But there was no sadness in remembering, not then.”

Hannibal catches himself, stops. He looks at Will, and reaches a hand to his hair. Will leans away and Hannibal draws back. He seats down.

“I laid next to you for some time. I had my arms around your waist and I breathed in your hair. It reminded me of that time when we were lovers, I would sometimes stay awake for hours holding you, and you would always know. You seemed to find it endearing, back then. There was something peaceful in holding your body, even it was getting cold. Until that point I still believed I would stay true to my word.” Hannibal arches one eyebrow, and half shrugs. “But then, as I scented you all around me, in the bed sheets, in the room, in my hands, it occurred to me that the particles of skin and oil that made your scent were already fading. Those molecules were disappearing by the second, sucked inside of me, absorbed by the walls and the curtains, never to exist again. And then I got greedy, and realised I can't let that go. Let you go. So I made the phone calls, and took the pills and broke my promise”.

“For that, I apologise”. Hannibal’s voice is scratchy, he has been talking for a long time.

“I should get some water” Their eyes meet and then they both look away and Hannibal gets up, and the pressure that was building up under Will’s skin breaks. He brings his wrist to his mouth to choke back the sob that was trapped in him. Hannibal returns with his own glass of water.

There is a moment of tension and then Hannibal reaches for Will’s thigh and squeezes. The movement messes with his tentative balance and he almost falls, having to grab Will with both hands to steady himself. Will is already reaching for him, and they are both smiling.

“There is something wrong with your leg?” Will asks. "Apart from Jack's handiwork."

“That's what you always ask” Hannibal muses, “eventually”

“Does this … bubble always happen?” Just a gesture

“From what I know, yes”

"And you always come to find me?"

"Most times"

“When have you not?”

“Last time skip”

Will nods.

“You could guess what I would choose” Will feels constricted, cold. The guilt was much easier to shrug off when he was certain he’d never again come face to face with the Hannibal he left behind.

“Just so. And I chose not to come find you.” There is some sadness, and some self-deprecation and something else that Will can't identify.

A pause. Will does not want to think about the last jump anymore. He initially thought that’s where all the unreadable emotions that play on Hannibal's face stemmed from, but it doesn’t add up. There are many little somethings that don’t add up.

And Hannibal steals another look at him and it clicks. All the expressions he can't read, it is because they are all new to him. All the tiny frowns, and furrows and flinches - they are off because he’s never seen any of them before on Hannibal’s face.

“Why would I always ask about your leg” Will cocks his head, and it is heavy but it feels clearer by the minute. “When this is the only jump in which it would have been injured”

Hannibal’s expression bleeds into neutral, so Will knows he is on the right track.

“The way you move. Compensating for balance and mobility. Like your brain is remembering how to walk all over again.” Will half chokes on his saliva, Hannibal making to reach for the water but Will waves no.

“No, you… You remember after I do - after I am dead right?” A pause. “You are angry at me. I know I am right, and you used my guilt to hide it. But this is not the anger at me manipulating you, or even using you… this feels older than that. Something that had time, years to heal and reopen and scar over again and again” Will’s voice is a dry croak. He accepts the water this time.

“If I jump back every time I die. And you follow after” Will closes his eyes at this because he can’t be looking at Hannibal’s lax features anymore. He doesn't need to, because he knows he is right “it means I had a head start. It means that the fall killed me, and it damaged your legs or your spine or something along these lines”

“Something along these lines” Hannibal’s voice echoes his words, deadpan.

“And you lived. For quite a while. And then you didn’t” Will opens his eyes, but Hannibal is now looking out of the window, withdrawn.

“And then I didn’t” he echoes, sounding for all the world pleasant, agreeable.

“You are angry with me”. Hannibal shakes his head.

“I am most definitely not angry with you, Will” still looking out of the window.

“Bullshit”.

Hannibal takes the bait and looks back at Will. They glare at each other for a long moment, unflinching.

“I am furious with everyone, everything but you.” A smile, a drawn, thin thing that Will had never seen before. A smile that Will wants to erase from existence.

“You should be angry at me. Because I left you”.

“I can't be angry at you. Because I didn’t follow”.

A pause.

“I thought you foolish. For choosing the blind leap, for what. Peace? A change? Nothingness? How arrogant were you, believing you can gamble with existence and win a better lot, out there, when all you knew was living?”

Will could feel his teeth hurt, from clenching his jaw too hard. Fleetingly he thinks its better if they shatter, if that’d keep all the words inside.

“And then I came to know more. And here we are. Both, fools”.

“If you are going to ask me if I regret-”

“I am not going to, Will.” Hannibal lets his face soften. He glances at Will, for a heartbeat, as if it burns to look for too long, and he deflates.

“I am not angry at you. I am angry I waited too long”.

Will looks down at his upturned palms, resting empty and powerless on top of the covers. He thinks of how Hannibal has cradled each hand in his own while undressing him, while bathing him, while tucking him in.

“Come to bed”.

Hannibal looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. Will smiles; that’s the man who once felt emotions so privately that Will’s empathy could take a break around him. Will’s heart swells with a new feeling of something fanged, something between pride and ownership. “Please”.

Hannibal moves stiffly, takes off his shoes. A moment, and then he continues with socks and trousers and shirt. Dressed down to boxers and white bandages, he sits on the edge of the bed. He gives Will ample time to choke his reaction to seeing the Verger brand for the very first time, angry and red and blistered.

Will’s fingers feel clammy as he reaches to touch the healthy skin around red letters.

“Jack will be looking for us” Hannibal says, and Will touches the pad of his finger to the burned skin.

“And he will never find us” Will says absentmindedly. He feels like he run a marathon, barefooted, on snow. He is trying to hold on but he is too aware of all he will forget once his eyes close. Everything that Hannibal will only remember once he dies - once he gets abandoned, again.

There is nothing that can be done, Will thinks, and his feels lighter than he has in months.

“Did you talk about me? After the cliff?” Will feels braver than ever before. “To some bright-eyed grad student, to Jack’s next protege? Did you-”

“At first I did.” Hannibal slowly manoeuvres his body, settles on his side. He uses his arms to pull his legs up and arranges them on the bed, and Will’s heart throbs. Their faces are so close that Will’s eyes go all blurry before they adjust again.

“And then?”

“And then I didn’t”

“What changed?” Will doesn't care too much. He just doesn’t want Hannibal to stop talking. Hannibal humours him.

“Nothing changed, as such.” He gathers his thoughts, his eyes freely taking in Will’s face, his hair fanning out on the pillow, the movements of his throat “If I can be nothing but brutally honest in this moment, I can admit that the time came when the doubts overwhelmed me”.

“The doubts?” Will mouths, incredulous.

“From our talks, I believe you recall our dance with the dragon in its entirety, correct? Or at least all the steps leading us to the edge of that cliff” Will nods.

“I am afraid that I don't." Will freezes "Brain is such a majestic construct, Will. It has the inborn ability to shield itself from harm by shutting away the memories that occur at the time of great injury.” Will can taste the bitterness, and it is mixing with his own rising anger. How naive was he to have never considered that outcome?

“Will, it is ok” Hannibal rains down are soft touches on his crown, his forehead, tracing the butterfly stitches, a few curls. “I was able to deduce the gist of it. The exchange, the Dragon shooting me, us bringing him down together. I know it happened.” More touches, and then softer “Tell me Will… I arrived at an image of us standing at the edge of the cliff, black with blood. My lips are moving, and then are yours, yet I cannot hear anything but for the rush of the wind. Will, can you tell me what it was you said to me then?”

And Will feels cracked open, because Hannibal’s feelings are too tender and raw to contain and remain whole. He thinks no, what happened on that cliff is something he has gambled everything on, time and time again. It is too precious. It is not something he can just give away, it is something that his Hannibal would know. And yet his mouth is moving.

“You told me that this was what you wanted for us all along and I, I said it was beautiful”. Will looks away. “And then…”

Hannibal cradles his head between his hands. “And then.” Will looks at Hannibal, scared of what he will find in his eyes. But Hannibal is just smiling.

“Thank you Will.”

They rest with their foreheads touching, and Will feels boneless. Like all the bone-deep tiredness of the last days - months - is draining off of him with every breath they shares in their protective cocoon. It would be so easy to let go then, there. Safe.

Will is not sure for whose benefit, but he struggles to open his heavy eyelids once more. “I answered your question. And I have one of my own.”

Hannibal draws a few inches back and observes Will, preparing himself for the possible outcomes. There is something cat-like in his expression, a lazy blink as he measures him up, that goes straight to Will’s groin.

“Fair is fair” Hannibal agrees.

“In all the times you’ve come to meet me in this, as you call, bubble” Will schools his face into indifference “which one of us initiates the kiss?” A pause. “Usually, that is.”

Hannibal’s face goes into neutral and then relaxes into something openly fragile. Softer than Will thought possible. They meet in the middle. They kiss half smiles off of each others’ lips, mouths relaxing, movements turning tenderly sloppy. Will is too tired to get fully erect, but the warm spool of arousal in his belly feels amazing; it makes the aches and the cold recede to the edges of his consciousness.

“I don’t, initiate, often enough” Hannibal breathes between slow kisses. Will traces his face with heavy fingers, finds the lines of the frown he hears in that voice and picks at them until they relax.

“It is ok” and then they are kissing again. They fall asleep facing each other, breaths mingling, light.

And then Will awakes to the smell of dust.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this purely as self-therapy, after having my heart torn apart by the most brilliant inameitlater's work, Sounders of Three. Then I kept writing it, hoping I was writing a fix-it, but somewhere along the way it turned into... this. I am not quite sure why I am hurting myself like this, but in any case, I thought I might as well share the pain. Infinite thanks to inameitlater for creating this beautiful universe and allowing us to play in it!


End file.
